


our choices seal our fate

by cinderlily



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Break Up, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 16:04:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6760711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderlily/pseuds/cinderlily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the grand scheme of things, Oliver and Mikkel had never made contingency plans for one of them being traded. Maybe they were fool hardy, or maybe they were in love. But it didn't matter because when Mikkel was traded on February 29th to the Avalanche that was the end. </p><p>Months later, Oliver was still coming to terms with it, but Mikkel decides to mess everything up. Again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	our choices seal our fate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sly_fck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sly_fck/gifts), [freetodream5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/freetodream5/gifts), [LuciFern](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuciFern/gifts).



  
_You were strangely less in pain_  
Than you were cold.  
Triumphant in your mind  
Of the logic that you hold 

_You said no one would ever know_  
The love that we had shared.  
As I took my leave to go  
It was clear you didn't care  
-"Where Are You Now?" Mumford  & Sons 

Oliver had booked his flight to Sweden the night they lost contention. It wasn’t like he didn’t know days before hand that there was not a great chance but he was just superstitious enough to not do it before the math said “zero”. But when it did, the moment they were out, he pulled out his phone in the locker room and picked out the quickest he could find after the last game. 

He needed home more than he had since his first year in Juniors. 

The day he landed he went straight into his mom’s outstretched arms and though it wasn’t quite his proudest moment he sobbed in the middle of the airport. It had been a rough few weeks. If he was truly honest with himself it had been an even longer year. Even the good parts felt tainted from the bad now. 

Kevin met him at the door with a beer, and even though it was only just barely three in the afternoon and the dead center of the night back home— in Arizona, he chugged it down in one quick gulp. His mother barely made a comment. 

To say he wasn’t at his best a few hours later would be an understatement. Not quite classically drunk, but he was maintaining a good buzz and had jet lag in the worst way. But he was fighting sleep, enjoying the way he was in a space that didn’t scream of Mikkel everywhere. That didn’t make him feel like the walls were talking to him. 

But his phone WAS talking to him. Singing to him, actually. And he’d forgotten that his Swedish SIM card still had all the numbers in it, all the number he was trying to forget. 

“Mads,” he answered the phone, the ’s’ at the end elongating slowly. “What do you want?” 

“Uh, where are you?” Mads asked, an awkward tone to his voice. 

Oliver blinked, looking around his backyard which was just barely starting to darken into night. “I’m in Swe—. I’m home.”

“ **Which** home, Oliver?” 

“My parents. Why are you asking?” 

“ _Fan_ , you fucker, I told you to call someone about this,” he said, but it wasn’t in Swedish and it definitely wasn’t to him. The idea hit him in that way ideas hit you when you’re drunk, slow and hard and he wasn’t sure if he wanted the answer to his next question. 

“Mads, where are you?” 

Mads let out a hoarse laugh. “Your home, funnily enough, fucker. Your kitchen to be exact.” 

“How—“ he stopped himself. “Get out. Both of you, right now. Get out of **my house**.” 

Mads went into rapid fire Danish, much too fast for him to catch anything other than the occasional word. ‘Stupid’, ‘asshole’, ‘use your words’, and the name Mikkel over and over again. There were only a few quick spaces that were empty, where he strained to hear a voice but didn’t. 

“You work fast, don’t you?” Mads said. “You guys cleared out your locker yesterday.” 

“I had nothing to stay for,” he said through clenched teeth. “Get out of my house, Mads and tell Mikkel to get out too.” 

There was a rustling on the phone line and suddenly his heart was in his throat. 

“Ollie?” 

It had been just over two months since he’d heard that voice and yet the way it was in his ear was just as familiar as if it had been the day before. He put his hand up to the receiver to avoid Mikkel hearing the way his breathing changed. He could mute it, he thought, he _should_ just hang up but neither actually happen. 

“Get out of my house,” Oliver said, finally able to speak again. “Why do you even have a fucking key, you already got all your things out. You did it before we even got home from the road trip.” 

Mikkel let out a noise akin to a sigh but more pained. “I thought it would be easier if I…” 

“Erased every part of you in the matter of a few hours?” 

“If I left clean.” 

Oliver didn’t yell, but only because he knew his family was somewhere close. “Well, you did it. Clean break, clean and gone. Now keep with it, stay gone.” 

There was a pause on the line and he could almost hear a conversation on the other side of the line. What was Mikkel doing? He hated that he wanted to be there. Hated that he regretted every inch of being across the ocean, even if the only reason he wanted to be away from there in the first place was the thick layer of Mikkel that was everywhere. 

“Oliver, I’m not signing with the Avalanche,” Mikkel said, his voice quiet and low. “I’m not signing with them because it was a mistake to go there.” 

“But I thought you were going to have an easier time living there, _winning there_ ,” he retorted bitterly. He wasn’t above the fact that Mikkel had been a giant fucking twat when he left. “Besides, what makes you think our higher ups want you back.” 

“I don’t know if they do, I hope they will listen to me. I fired my manager here. I fired him and I’m not listening to him again I promise.” 

That was … not supposed to feel good to hear but it was. It was good to hear because he fucking hated that guy. That guy had been the one continually whispering in Mikkel’s ear. The one who had poisoned their relationship, or at very least offered the poison to Mikkel. 

“Well, you can’t stay at my house, Mikkel,” Oliver said, his voice tense. “YOU chose to leave. You can find a hotel somewhere. Get an apartment for all I fucking care.” 

“I came back because I love you,” Mikkel blurted out and Oliver’s body snapped to attention. Two months. Two months they hadn’t talked. They saw each other on the ice one time and even then Mikkel wouldn’t make eye contact. 

“No.” 

Mikkel scoffed. “What?” 

“I said, _no_ Mikkel. You don’t get to say that.” 

He hung up his phone and turned it off before he could do something stupid. 

* 

Days passed and Oliver was twitchy at best. He didn’t think Mikkel would fly to Sweden, but he also hadn’t thought that he wouldn’t speak to Mikkel ever again so what did he know? He made it a whole four days at his parents before he decided to go to his apartment in Stockholm, feigning that he had OEL work to do. 

He got back to his apartment and did in fact through himself into the OEL stuff, going through pages and pages of templates. The woman he left in charge through most of the year brought over swatches and pages upon pages of concept art. He dug in in the way that he thought would cover up his urge to check the messages in his inbox. 

Also, he called one of the trainers he knew in the area and asked to be fit in the schedule. So his time was full from top to bottom, early morning to almost dinner time every day. Leaving him only with the night to wallow in the thing he’d been trying to push off for months. 

After nearly a month he’d been lulled into a false sense of security, he guessed. Because he was caught completely off guard when he got off the elevator in his building to find Mads Boedker seated on the floor in front of his door. He stopped in his tracks and Mads went from looking at his cell phone to on his feet. 

“Mads, seriously?” 

Mads put his hands up, his cell phone still in his hands (apparently he was in the middle of a pretty intense game of Candy Crush). “He’s not here.” 

“He doesn’t have a key,” Oliver noted. “He never wanted to be here.” 

“He’s a complete ass,” Mads shrugged. “And I’m not here to do anything but talk.” 

Oliver looked back down towards the elevator, half sure that Mikkel would come out of the door even if Mads had assured him he wasn’t there. He grabbed the keys out of his pocket and opened the door, ushering Mads in. 

“He’s in Denmark, by the way.” 

“I don’t care.” 

Mads scoffed. “Yeah, that is blatantly obvious.” 

Oliver looked up and saw his apartment through Mads eyes. He’d been there for three weeks and his apartment looked… well. Like a mess. Paper work and swaths everywhere. Take out food on pretty much every surface. He kept the fact that he’d had a cleaning lady the week before to himself, as it just made it even more pathetic. 

“I’ve been busy. Work and training,” he frowned. “I’m ordering food. You have till the guy gets here. Then we eat in silence and you can leave.” 

He shuffled through his take out menus and grabbed one at random, shoving it into Mads hands. “Ohhkay.” 

It was painful, even though he didn’t want to admit to it, to be this close to Mads. Mads, who had such family resemblance it made him feel like his stomach was made of lead. Mads gave him his order, apparently he’d picked Lebanese food. He hadn’t actually remembered there was a Lebanese place nearby. 

He made the phone call and then took a deep breath before looking back at Mads. 

“You have thirty minutes,” he said, feeling surprisingly zen about the whole thing as he led them to the couches nearby. 

Mads knit his brows as he sat across from him, something so very Mikkel he hated it. He inhaled though, he wasn’t going to let this get him. “I told him to take the fucking deal, Ollie. You know that right?” 

“I’m not mad at you,” Oliver felt the need to point out. “I’m just not… I don’t need this.”

“Well, I told him to take it. I told him not to listen to that fucker and like usual he was a dumb ass. I just thought you should know that before I start with the rest of this.” 

Oliver shrugged, like it mattered anyway. “Okay. Got it.” 

“He knew he fucked up before he did it,” Mads said. “I can say that as he got all uppity and huffy about it, which he only does when he knows he’s doing something wrong. He painted himself into a corner.” 

“He was offered out of that corner more than once,” Oliver pointed out. “Not just by me, but by most people in the higher ups. By his OTHER managers. By most of our teammates.” 

He remembered the way Shane and Mikkel had talked, for more than one flight. Intense and low and the entire way, making Oliver feel itchy and annoyed. He liked having Mikkel beside him. Even when they were fighting. He hated having to watch the back of Mikkel’s head lean into Shane. 

“We share the stubbornness, I can’t act like I don’t have it. It snow balls and he got caught up.” 

He found one of his hands was in a fist at his side and he forced himself to relax it. “Okay. So he went. And now he doesn’t plan on staying. He’ll have an uphill battle to get back on the Coyotes. He has to know the bridges he burnt.” 

“That doesn’t seem to be his biggest concern at the moment, _Oliver_ ,” Mads never used his full name. It felt awkward coming from him. Not unlike the entirety of this conversation. 

He wasn’t going to be the one to ask what the concern was, even if he knew exactly what would come out of Mads’ mouth. The words ‘I love you’ still followed him around even a month later. Words that hadn’t been said between the two of them in far longer than just the months that they were separated. Words that had been kept from each other in a weird game of ‘who can hurt the other more’. 

“He booked the flight to Arizona two weeks before the season ended. Even when they were still in contention,” Mads said, finally breaking the silence. “He had me come out and then he flew us both there, hoping that I would be some stupid buffer or some shit. That you would at least not kick me out.” 

“Had I still been there, I would have kicked you both out.” 

“Well, good to know,” Mads said, somewhat amusedly. “We left, by the way. After you hung up on him he turned around, reset the alarm and didn’t look back. He said it wasn’t his house to go to anymore.” 

Which was a gut punch if he’d ever heard one, even if he’d been the one to make it that way. Well, one of two. It had been the two of them, after all. The fighting, the miscommunication and in the end the breaking up.

He chewed on his lower lip, thinking about their break up. The middle of a locker room on a road trip. His voice reaching new levels of high pitched. He hadn’t cried, he was really proud of that. He wanted to. He wanted to fucking sob. They hadn’t talked in four days and he gets told in the same way the entire team gets told? It was a dick move on top of ten other dick moves and yet he’d kept his mind together enough not to cry until late that night in his hotel room’s shower. 

Three days later when he’d gotten home to find every fucking piece of evidence that Mikkel had existed was completely gone he’d cried again. But he allowed himself that, seeing as no one was there to witness it. 

“Does he know that you’re here?”

Mads shook his head slightly, just enough for Oliver to know that he’d guessed right. “He’s fucking miserable, Ollie.” 

“He’s an adult,” Oliver pointed out. “He can drive through the tunnel just as well as you can.” 

“You almost kicked _me_ out,” Mads said. “In fact, you’re going to kick me out. And I just share DNA with the dumb fuck.” 

Oliver twisted the bottom of his shirt in his hands, willing the doorbell to ring just so the food could be there and the conversation could be over. It didn’t though, and knowing his luck it wouldn’t for much much longer. He hadn’t exactly been paying attention to the clock when he’d ordered. 

“I don’t know what I’d say to him,” Oliver conceded. “I… he really fucked me up.” 

Mads nodded. “I know. I still talk to some of your teammates. Not to mention your brother, who makes me seem cool headed.” 

Oliver resisted the urge to groan at the idea of his YOUNGER brother fucking calling Mads to yell at him. Not that it would or should shock him in the least. Kevin was not known for his level headedness nor for keeping his mouth shut. 

“Kevin had no right… None of them had any right to tell you anything, Mads.” 

“Well, it’s not like I couldn’t guess. If it’s been anything like Mikkel… Let’s just say I had to up my minutes for the phone calls that came from around two am in Colorado.” 

It shouldn’t make his heart hurt. It should make him feel good. He should feel satisfied that Mikkel hurt even a fraction of how badly as he’d been feeling. But instead his head filled with images of Mikkel hunched over a bottle of whatever beer he could find (he’d never been as picky as Oliver had), talking his brother’s ears off and it _hurt_ him. 

“His choice,” Oliver bit out. “That was his choice.” 

Mads nodded. “It was. And I told him that. Every fucking time. His choice, not yours. He fucked up, it took him weeks to say that. Weeks before he admitted he had most of the fault in this, but it takes two to break up…” 

The doorbell goes off. Why? Because that was Oliver’s fucking life. He stood up and walked to the door, his phone in hand. He liked technology, even more so when it made his decisions for him. Two swipes and he had paid for the meal and even tipped him the proper amount without having to dig out his wallet. 

A quick look at his table reminded him that he’d been going over paperwork this morning. He set his jaw and put the food on a small bare spot in his kitchen before organizing the paperwork as quickly and efficiently as he could. He didn’t need the judgement of his ex’s brother about how he was coping with having his heart broken. 

Mads had opened the boxes while Oliver had cleaned and he passed Oliver a box with a fork on top. 

“You got beer?” 

Oliver raised an eyebrow and Mads shrugged before going to the fridge. 

“I was being polite, fucker.” 

“Why start now?” Oliver countered, sitting down at one of the chairs and hooking his feet behind the chair’s legs. He leaned over his Shish Tawook and inhaled. He’d ordered it on a whim as it sounded interesting but it smelled amazing. 

A beer manifested in front of him and he didn’t look up but nodded a thank you. 

“Ollie, you’ve got to…” 

Oliver shook his head, taking a bite and swallowing before he said. “I told you you had till food. We can talk about other stuff if you want…” 

“Are you fucking serious?” 

Oliver looked up at him. “What did you think, Mads? You’d drive here and tell me I need to take responsibility and I’d forgive him? He fucking left me. He fucking got himself traded to get away from me, packed up in the middle of the night so I had no chance to even _talk_ to him. He fucked me the hell up for the rest of the season. For longer. 

“And the truly shitty part? I can’t even fucking hate him even though the logical side of me knows that’s what I need to do. That that will help me. But I can’t. So yeah. I could have fought harder, even though I don’t know how. I could have tried more, even though I tried my damned hardest. But I don’t forgive him. Okay? I don’t.”

Mads eyes were wide and the bottle of beer in his hand was perilously close to falling. “Fuck.” 

Oliver swallowed half the bottle in one swift gulp, and the other half in another. He got up and went to the fridge to grab another. He sat down, popped the cap and avoid looking at Mads as he went back to eating the meal that suddenly tasted more or less like dust. 

After a long minute Mads seemingly snapped back to himself and put his beer down. He took a bite, then another and swallowed them both with beer. 

“You call this piss beer?” he said, his voice tentative. “I should have brought real Danish ale.” 

Oliver smiled at the table. “It’s all good, our borders won’t allow that shit in.” 

“Hopefully they don’t let this shit **out** ,” Mads smiled back. 

The rest of the meal is mostly easy, a few awkward silences… a few times where Mads goes to tell a story that obviously has Mikkel in it and stumbles over his words. (He usually changes its to ‘a friend’, which is so entirely see through but sweet to know he’s willing to try.) 

By the time they were done it’s late enough that Oliver can’t bring himself to kick Mads out. He put a hand towards his guest room. 

“You want to spend the night? I have an early training, so you’ll probably have to be out pretty fucking early but …” 

Mads shrugged. “Thanks man.” 

Oliver can’t, actually, stay out in the front room much longer after that. He didn’t hold anything against Mads, but Boedker DNA was rather potent apparently and the curve of Mads mouth was beginning to make Oliver miss Mikkel more and that wasn’t something he could handle. He was just barely getting by day to day, seeing Mikkel’s smile and his eyes, even in a different face was pulling at fairly easily broken strings of sanity. 

“I’m going to go to bed,” he said, lying through his teeth. It was late, but not late enough to sleep. 

“Yeah, cool man,” Mads nodded, like it wasn’t weird at all. He loved Mads. “I’m going to just chill for a while, if that’s okay with you?” 

Oliver nodded and headed down the small hallway to his master bedroom. He was thankful he’d had his computer there that morning, at least he could do some work before bed. (Or, more likely, fuck around on the internet until he passed out.) 

He was laying there with his laptop for about ten minutes when he realized that Mads hadn’t probably brought anything for himself, including sleep clothes or a toothbrush. He grabbed a pair of sleep pants, a throwaway toothbrush he kept under his sink, and almost as an afterthought the extra phone charger he’d had on the opposite side of his room. 

He was about four steps down the hallway when he heard Mads voice talking with another voice, a little less clear but still loud enough for him to hear. 

“You’re where?” the voice said and .. yeah. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t recognize Mikkel if he heard him. At least the Dane was speaking slow enough to make it so he could understand him. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. 

He could hear Mads walking around the other room (pacing maybe?). “I had to do something, Meeks. You’re both miserable. Mom’s worried.” 

“Mads, he won’t forgive me,” Mikkel said, and something deep in Oliver’s chest twisted hard. “He made that more than clear last time.” 

“Maybe he won’t, maybe he will.” 

“He **won’t**.” 

Mads said something that Oliver couldn’t catch. It was low and annoyed and too fast for his ears to catch the Danish. 

“Fuck you, Mads. I did try, I flew to fucking Arizona and told him…I told him everything and he didn’t want to listen.” 

“Well, you figure he might take more than just a ‘sorry I broke your heart’? He’s fucking broken, you twat. You should see him, he’s just… broken… and you did this…” 

Oliver shouldn’t be listening to this. He shouldn’t be, and he knew it. But the problem was he couldn’t seem to get his feet to listen to his brain and move. He couldn’t get himself to make a noise to get Mads’ attention. He _was_ broken, apparently. 

“Don’t you think I know that?” Mikkel said, and his voice was as pained as it had been a month before. “I love him and I broke him. Maybe I should just let him be enough to move on.” 

At that, though, his mouth opened and a pained groan escaped. From the other room Mads let out a quick, ‘Shit’ and came around the edge with his phone in one hand. 

“Shit, fuck, shit, I got to go,” Mads said, going for the button to end the call. 

Just before he hit the small red button he heard a distant. “Wait, Ollie?” 

“How much did you hear?”

Oliver shoved his hands out and passed him the pants, the toothbrush and the phone charger. “I heard nothing.” 

“Ollie,” Mads said, but Oliver shook his head and turned around. He made it into the bedroom before Mads could get there and locked it behind him. 

Oliver didn’t sleep much that night and the next morning he found that sometime in the middle of the night Mads had gone. Everything still piled neatly on the couch in the front room. 

It should have been a relief. It didn’t quite feel that way. 

* 

Shane called him at the end of July to ask him to come back to Arizona early. Oliver, who’d wallowed long enough in Sweden to last two life times, agreed, though with a little anxiety at the back of his brain. Shane had said he was coming back, but the fear that he could possibly take that back bit at the base of his skull. 

Shane was at the airport when he landed, a huge smile and a bear hug greeting him. 

“Oliver, it’s so good to see you, man,” he said, head still dug in Oliver’s shoulder and hands not even bothering to do the cursory back slaps. He pulled back. “How was your summer?” 

“Good?” Oliver tried but he knew Shane wasn’t hearing any of that bullshit. 

“You know I’ve got four kids, right?” 

He let out a rueful laugh. “Okay, shitty. But can we keep that part of the conversation out of Terminal 2?” 

Shane agreed to that and they made idle chatter about Shane’s family rather than serious shit. They grabbed his two huge bags, much more than he’d left with. He’d maybe done a bit of retail therapy in Europe but who could blame him. Plus he’d brought OEL gear for all the guys. He figured it was his job as the A. 

“Ugh,” Shane groaned as he threw the duffel bag over his shoulder. “You want both of us to start the season with pulled muscles?” 

Oliver almost went to grab the bag from Shane before Shane gave him the patented ‘do it and I’ll ground you’ look that had to have been perfected on his kids but used on the rookies more than once. At least the use of future tense eased the idea that he was going to be walking into a ‘Making you Captain’ talk. He wasn’t ready for that. At all. 

They got to Shane’s dumbly huge truck and threw his bags in the bed, after Shane explicitly told him that he was not going to lose his bags on the highway. He wanted to avoid talking for as long as possible but he’d known the Captain for four years and wasn’t dumb enough to think he’d be allowed it. 

“You want to just start or do I have to ask leading questions?” 

“Mikkel wants to come back.” 

Shane exhaled. “That I know.” 

Oliver wasn’t dumb enough to ask how he knew. By this point Mikkel had to have had at least made overtures to the team. But as he hadn’t been announced or anything they couldn’t have made a decision. 

“He might have called me a few times over the summer,” Oliver offered, rubbing his suddenly sweaty hands on his jeans. He forgot just how balls hot it was in Arizona in July. He felt like his whole body was doused in salty water. What compelled him to wear jeans was beyond him. He’d been smart enough to throw his plane sweatshirt in one of the bags. 

Shane made a noise like he was listening but he wasn’t going to talk and Oliver looked out the window. 

“Look, we broke up. You were there. I wasn’t in a good place. Hearing his voice wasn’t any better. Mads visited me a few weeks back. It was stupid to think I’d get around it. He moved to a different team, not a different league. I’ll have to see him.” 

Oliver saw Shane wince out of the side of his eye. 

The penny dropped. 

“You know he wants to come back because they are thinking about taking him back.” 

Shane looked over for a worrying length of time for someone who was driving on the highway but then again any amount of time was pretty worrying. He looked back at the road and exhaled. “We are taking some time to consider his offer. But there are … mitigating factors.”

“Mitigating factors?” Oliver had only been speaking the language for four years but that sounded like big words for a simple problem. “You are afraid I won’t play with him, worry that I might make it hard for him.” 

Shane let out a snort. “No, if you won’t play than he has no chance in hell. In fact, I don’t even really care if you make it hard on him. I’m pretty sure Domi is going to make it hard on him if you DO let him come back. What I don’t want is my A hurting for an entire season, and I have to know if I leave at the end of this season will you be able to Captain for him.” 

When put so plainly it felt weird to hear, even though he knew that the Captainship was his to be held. Maybe with an interim if needed, but still. He felt his body tensing up at the thought of it, at the idea of Mikkel being back in their red. In their locker room. Hell, even in their city. 

Still he couldn’t tell him to say ‘No.’ His mouth opened to ask for it, but then shut of it’s own accord. He thought back to the beginning of the season, when they were still a thing. When Mikkel’s biggest fear was just playing hard enough to earn his spot back. When everything felt good. 

They’d talked about his contract, they had to. Realistically he’d gotten a one year deal as a gift to him, after the injury took away his stats for the rest of the year and gave the team a gaping hole to fill. Oliver still had four years on his contract at that point. They’d agreed once Mikkel got a year to work hard to earn him the next three years. 

“What are the terms of his new contract?” 

“One year, 3.25 mill,” Shane said slowly, and when Oliver looked over he could see that Shane had a tense jaw and white fingers on the wheel. “They won’t offer him three years again, not with the way he treated the team last year.” 

“He burned a lot of bridges on his way out,” Oliver said again, looking out the window. 

They drove in silence for a while, the radio playing Shane’s favorite country radio on low. Oliver watched the 202 turn into the 101 and started counting the exits to _their_ exit. His stomach churned. He’d forgotten how familiar everything would feel, how the pain from the months before would go from low lying to ever present. 

He felt his hand clutch at the side of the seat when they took the exit. He probably needed to say something, anything. But nothing felt like it was the right thing to say. Telling Shane to let him take the deal, to not let him take the deal. It felt crazy and final. A decision he wouldn’t allow himself. 

They turned into his locked subdivision and he felt the air thicken. Shane already knew the code, but Oliver said it out loud just to fill the silence. Shane was expecting something more. Oliver exhaled. 

“When do they have to make the decision?” 

“Soon,” Shane admitted, just as he turned into Oliver’s driveway. Soon was not what he wanted to hear, but he respected the honesty. 

Oliver looked at his house, the lights were on inside as he had called the woman who cleaned it to set it up for him. He imagined for half a second it hadn’t been Linda, but someone else who had made his home warm and welcome for him. His chest constricted. 

“Can I have tonight?” He said, never turning from the house. Shane put his hand on Oliver’s arm. 

“Hell, Harry,” Shane teased his hair, like he always. Oliver turned to find a fond smile on Shane’s lips. “I didn’t mean today. Take the next few days. Just. Can’t have it out there too long, okay?” 

He brushed a hand at Shane’s and groaned but felt a lot better. “You are an ass, Cap.” 

“Let me help you with the sheer tonnage that is in the bed, okay?” 

Oliver _almost_ said something about his age but bit his tongue. He was too thankful to have the Captain back for another season to let the be something that was held over Shane’s head. So rather than let it be something he teased him for he could figure out other things to tease him for. 

“Are you sure you’ve got the time? I hear your wife runs a tight ship,” he chirped. 

“Aw, come on, I said she had the _RIGHT_ to run a tight ship,” Shane groaned. 

They both jumped out of the truck and grabbed bags and Oliver shrugged. “Has to, I mean five kids running around the house.” 

“Cute,” Shane rolled his eyes. “It’s more like 10 with all the rookies and players in and out of my house. She deserves a medal.” 

Oliver shrugged, as they approached their door. “We’ll just get her a ring.” 

Shane nudged him. “Yeah we will.” 

He walked into the huge open foyer of his house and threw his bad to the side without the table along it. Shane followed suit. This would be the point where Shane would leave, he knew that. But the idea of being in his house by himself was about as appealing as jumping in the ocean with the Polar club. 

“You want… something to drink? Water? Beer? Soda?” 

He was pretty sure he’d asked Linda to fill the fridge, he just wasn’t sure what he’d asked for or if she would even know what to get him. That had never been her job before, that had been something either he or Mikkel had done the day they got home. In fact they fought over it, who had to do that and who got to stay home and throw shit in the laundry. 

Shane looked like he was weighing options, and Oliver really had no desire to be alone. 

“Please?” he said, his heart on his sleeve. 

“Beer,” Shane said. “This type of day? Beer.” 

Oliver sagged a little in relief and walked through the short hallway that lead to the over large kitchen. _Who the hell did he think he was buying a house that was meant for a family?_ He pushed the thought aside and went to the fridge, hoping that whatever beer she’d bought wasn’t of the watered down American variety. 

The fridge was full, from one side to the other and from top to bottom. Things organized in a weirdly comforting way. The beer? Was definitely not American. It wasn’t Swedish, but German, which was good enough. It was an unfamiliar brewer but a lager which was his favorite. He wondered if she noticed all the empties in the past. 

He popped open two of them with the bottle opening magnet on the side of his fridge. (It had been a gag gift from Mads, a house warmer, as Mads had told him that was the closest to cooking in that kitchen either of them would get. It hadn’t. They’d spent a lot of time in that kitchen, cooking and baking and being idiots. Sure half of the stuff had been shit, but they’d eaten either way.) 

Shane was on the phone when he got back out and looked up at Oliver with a smile before addressing the phone one last time. “I’ll tell him, honey. Love you.” 

He hung up.

“Mikey?” Oliver asked, off handed. 

Shane shoved at him and grabbed at his beer. “You know I call him ‘baby’, not ‘honey’. Keep my partners straight. _Andrea_ would like you to know you are welcome for dinner any night.” 

He tilted his beer towards Shane. “Thank her for me.” 

“You can do so yourself. When you come to dinner,” Shane said, much less of an ‘offer’ and more of a ‘you don’t mess with the wife’ tone. 

He nodded, no use making enemies before the season even began. He sat down on an overstuffed chair and swung his legs up over the side. Inviting his friend in had sounded good, but now he wasn’t sure what exactly that meant. Shane sat himself across from him, though, and seemed to find his hands really fascinating for am minute.

“Do you want to talk it out?” 

Nope. No. Niet. Nien. Nej. If he knew any other languages he would probably add them in. He felt like half his life was thinking about it and the other half was talking about it and he was getting to the point where it was emotionally draining him. His mom had given him some half ass formula about a breakup. Six months for every year together. That meant eighteen more months of this and he was pretty sure he’d break and go full goon on someone in about eighteen days. 

“There isn’t anything left to talk about,” he said. 

Shane tilted his head at him. “Oliver. If he comes back…” 

“Then he’ll be in the locker room. What would be the big deal? I’d have to see him. And it would suck, I mean, yeah. But would he be good for us? Yes. Of course he would. I was against them trading him even when I was mad. He’s got potential… why should I let my feelings go with what is best for the team?” 

He knew he was trying to convince himself more than Shane but Shane nodded along with him. 

“Okay, now the scrum’s over. Try again, this time with the truth.” 

Oliver exhaled loudly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes because as opposed to what he was feeling like at the moment he was _not_ sixteen years old. He was an adult. Who made a fuck ton of money, diversified and worked hard. Who could handle his shit when he needed to. Who did not need his fucking _CAPTAIN_ to treat him like he was one of his kids. 

He used his free hand to rub at his face. 

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to him. If I saw him tomorrow, would I punch him in the fucking face? Would I kiss him? Would I tell him to leave? Would I ask him to stay? I don’t know. I saw Mads this summer and even just seeing someone who _looked_ like him made me feel like crying.” 

Shane waited for a moment, like maybe Oliver was going to make even more of an ass of himself, but when he deemed he wouldn’t he put his Captain face. He placed his still untouched beer on a coaster on the side table nearest him, and put his hands on both knees. “Okay, do you want me to be realistic here?” 

“Yeah?” 

“You are probably going to want to do everything, all of it. Kick him, kiss him, hit him… I don’t know. Cry. It’s not something you can control. But you can control a few things. The place it happens, when it happens and there terms of why it happens.” 

Oliver nodded, though he honestly hadn’t thought about that. He’d been pushing the idea off so hard that actually controlling the situation was foreign to him. The thought felt good though. Fuck the ambushes, the times that left him feeling off kilter and on guard. 

“I don’t even know where he is,” he pointed out. 

Shane looked away from him. “Yeah, about that. He’s in town. He’s been for a few weeks. He’s got a rental.” 

This shouldn’t shock him. It shouldn’t. The fact had been made clear to him from first Mads and then Mikkel… he wanted to be here. He was going to do what was needed to get back. It was… obvious to try and play here for a while and get his feet under himself. 

Still. _Fuck_. Okay. He was in the same city as Mikkel. Again. For the first time since March. He could handle that. He was adult enough to handle that. 

“Do you want me to set up a time for you two to talk? Get a feel for what you want? We can make it at my house, so it’s neutral. Or even the arena if you want. I’m sure they’d let us take over an office for an afternoon. As short as you need it to be. Or long.” 

Oliver rolled the idea around in his head, sipping at his beer and taking slow breaths in between. He wondered if Mikkel wanted this, if he’d thought that it would help him or hurt him. Because Oliver honestly had no idea how it would go, but he knew that how it went gave him a power over Mikkel’s future that was a little intimidating. 

“Sure? Either way is good, I think. Neutral ground. Your place? I guess? I think the arena has seen enough of our bad times.” 

Though as soon as he said it, he did have to feel a little guilty. 

“I mean, if it’s okay with you. What about the kids? And Andrea? I mean, I promise no actual fights. But… It’s your house, man.” 

“Wouldn’t have offered it if I didn’t mean it. Andrea will make food, there might be alcohol and most of the kids are avoiding us because school starts soon and they think they might get more time if they don’t get near us. Teenagers are fun and the younger ones wouldn’t care what’s going on… Unless you don’t feel comfortable with them around. We can get the babysitter come.” 

He exhaled. “Okay. That could work. The babysitter? Maybe?” 

Shane smiled at him. “I’m always up for a babysitter.” 

“Tomorrow?” he said, because waiting any longer than that was crazy and tonight just wasn’t an option. He couldn’t think of something he would like to do less with the amount of jet lag that was going to hit him in a few hours. 

“Tomorrow should work,” Shane said, picking up his phone and poking at it with his forefingers. He paused and looked up before going back to it. 

Oliver looked away and finished the beer. This was going to be one of those things that he didn’t want to think about. Or, really, talk about. He grabbed the remote from the little caddy on top of the coffee table and turned the TV on. Shane looked up from his phone and looked at the screen. 

“Diamondbacks are playing.” 

“Diamondbacks are stick ball, right?” Oliver teased. 

A few years before the guys had all chipped in on a trip to the pool for the evening and he’d spent a good two hours convincing Shane and a few of the guys that he had no idea what was going on before he cracked and informed him that while America MIGHT have invented it, he’d seen it played before more than once. 

“Just turn on our boys, brat,” Shane said, finally pulling the beer off the table and drinking. “Stick ball, we felt _bad for you_.” 

“You’re Canadian, don’t you know American culture is everywhere?” 

Shane shrugged. “You shouldn’t tease me, I’m old, remember?” 

“Yeah right, you had your best season last year. This year you’ll do better.” 

Shane smiled around his beer bottle. “I might just.” 

*

The next day was pretty much the worst. He’d long since learned how to make travel less hard on his body. Drinking plenty of water and Gatorade on the flight. Walking around. Trying to slowly acclimate your sleep schedule BEFORE you leave and then staying up as late as your body can make it that night to hard set it. It didn’t make it suck any less. 

It did give him a distraction though, from the inevitable. 

He’d woken up to a confirmation from Shane about the time he was supposed to come over. He’d even gone so far as to ask if he should bring anything. Like it was a normal dinner party rather than a formal meeting. 

When he’d gone back to the fridge after waking up he’d found that not only had Linda gotten his favorite breakfast foods, she’d even gone so far as getting him the right type of egg. It wasn’t that he was particular about eggs but his trainer had given him a list of brands that had the better vitamins per egg and the best form of protein. 

He’d scrambled them up and made toast (his favorite brand) with a huge glass of milk, even though it was almost noon by the time he ate lunch. It was satisfying and the task was mind numbing. He wouldn’t call what he had a hangover (he’d had two beers the night before, he was not that kind of wimp) but his stomach felt like he’d gone on a bender. Maybe it was just tied in knots. 

The process was simple, he’d get to Shane’s house. He’d open the door and Mikkel would be there. He’d see him. He’d breathe in and out. They might talk. They might not. He was trying to run through all the variations of what could be said, of what he wanted to say. The problem was everything was such a jumbled mess of _feelings_ rather than words. Words would be easy, if he had them. Instead he wanted to hurl anger at him, pain and hurt and sadness. He wanted to make Mikkel feel every single moment of the last few months without him. 

Then again, were it possible he probably wouldn’t. He probably couldn’t, to be absolutely honest. He didn’t know if he could inflict what the last few months felt like on anyone. It was silly, he knew people went through break ups and felt this way, maybe worse, all the time but it wasn’t just any break up for him. All the past break ups he’d have (well, all three of them) had been amicable. He’d stuck pretty close to the ‘fuck buddy’ system in hockey. The casual, ‘we’re on the road and I’m bored, jack me off?’ system that worked for those who were both straight or gay. 

When things like that ended it was usually with a trade or a girlfriend entering the picture that wasn’t down with the rules of no homo. (Which, frankly, he was mostly homo so he could get that being uncomfortable with a significant other.) It was a pat on the ass, ‘good game’ and then it was over. 

He’d never felt the sheer pain of working and building and living towards something being torn down as hard as Mikkel had done to him. 

The hours passed. He didn’t eat again as the afternoon went on, because he didn’t want to puke it back up. He drank water, pushed some electrolytes. He tried his best to just focus on the immediate few moments after seeing him. Because he didn’t want to fuck it up. Didn’t want to punch him, or god fucking forbid, cry. 

He practiced it in his mind so many times that getting to the house and realizing that he’d beaten Mikkel there was a huge let down. He’d been prepared. He’d visualized it. He was ready for being the late one. 

“Sorry, I told him a little later, thought I’d give you a few minutes to relax,” Shane admitted, when Oliver asked why the hell Mikkel was taking so long. Oliver didn’t say that was the opposite of what he needed, because Shane looked so freaking earnest that it was just not part of his vocabulary to break that down. 

“Thanks,” he lied. “Um. Can I help with anything?” 

He heard noise coming from the next room and figured maybe dinner was being set up. Though he didn’t _want_ to do dinner, maybe setting it up would help him feel distracted enough not to jump out of his skin and run out the back screaming. 

“Naw, the kids have it down pat. Even if I try to help they get annoyed,” Shane shrugged. 

So that sat. For fifteen minutes. The only reason Oliver knew it wasn’t eternally longer (like it felt) was that he stared at the little numbers on the box over their TV for the whole time. He watched the minutes tick away and waited with frayed nerves for a bomb to go off. Each minute made him a little more anxious than the last and he was pretty sure he was about to just leave when the doorbell finally rang. 

Oliver was on his feet in a moment and then after that he was staring forward at the door. Shane went to the it and opened it wide. There was a moment before Mikkel walked in that Oliver could hear his voice but not see him and he thought, just maybe, it would be fine. He could do this. 

Then Mikkel walked in the door and that idea went straight out the window. 

_Fuck_. 

Mikkel looked … good. Looked like his usual self. A half smile, obviously nervous, on his face. His hair was too long, like he hadn’t had it cut since they’d last seen each other. His shirt was filled out, which was nice. He’d still been struggling putting on the weight since the spleen and it had been all Oliver could do to make him drink protein powders in the afternoon. 

Oliver wanted to hug him. He _really_ wanted to deck him, but he wanted to hug him more than hit him and that fucking sucked. 

“Hey,” Mikkel said, making eye contact with Oliver for the first time. “Long time no see.” 

And Oliver tried to say something. He went through his list from the morning, of all the things he was going to say at first. The ideas had run the gamut from angry hurls to curt niceties and yet nothing came to mind. Rather he just lifted a hand and waved like he didn’t know English at all. 

Shane grabbed Mikkel by the shoulder and dragged him in. “Come on boys, let’s sit.” 

“Thanks Dad,” Mikkel teased and even though it sounded forced it was still a nice feeling to hear it. This was turning out weird. He had no idea what was going on. 

“I’ve got to pee,” he blurted out and bee lined for the hallway that had a small half bath. He closed the door and stared into the mirror. His skin was pink, his hair matted from sweat he hadn’t even felt starting. He could blame it on the fact that it was a thousand degrees outside but that wasn’t true. 

He was anxious. 

He turned on the cold water tap and splashed his face a few times, trying to get his barrings. Maybe only thinking through the initial moments was poor planning on his behalf. Now that that was over he had no idea where to go from there. He was stuck. Mikkel was in the room next door and there was only so long a pee could take. 

“Talk to him. Act like you’ve never met,” he said in a low whisper, hoping that it would take. “You only have to work with him, nothing more.” 

He flushed the toilet, though he was about ninety nine percent sure there was no way that either of them could hear it out in the front room. He felt a little bad for the environment, but he persevered. Stepping out into the hallway gave him about a half a second longer of time to breathe before he went back out and found Mikkel seated, staring at his hands and Shane standing with his arms crossed. 

“Uh, sorry?” Oliver tried. 

Shane looked over and his frown went into a forced smile. “See, Oliver is back. Good, awesome. Sit down, Ollie.” 

Oliver wondered if when you got the C you had to go to some sort of seminar on conflict resolution and seriously second guessed any chances of becoming Captain. He was not made for conflict resolution, anyone could see that on ice. Instead he walked over to a chair that was about as far away from Mikkel as he could muster without it looking too obvious. 

Then came the expected unbearable silence. Not that it was too far off from what would be if Oliver didn’t actually know Mikkel, but that didn’t matter as he _did_ know Mikkel and he could see the squiriming that was going on. He put his hands out. 

“How was Denmark?” 

Mikkel looked up at him like he had grown a second head and that head was currently speaking Greek. He swallowed and Oliver watched his adam’s apple bob. “Uh. Good? Mads was there for a while…” 

Oliver ignored the wince Mikkel gave him. Of course Oliver knew that. “That’s good. I spent some time with Kevin and his dumb ass friends…” 

“Yeah, saw that…” 

“What?” 

Mikkel frowned. “Uh. Instagram, O.” 

The use of _Mikkel’s_ nickname for him made Oliver’s skin crawl. 

“ _Oliver_ ,” he stated as clearly as he could. 

“What?” 

“My name is Oliver. Or… I don’t know. I guess Ollie.” 

Mikkel looked stricken, honest to god like Oliver had smacked him across the face. Oliver looked down to avoid watching the reaction. He was going to do his best here. 

Shane coughed. “So, you get any good practice in this summer, Ollie?”

“Yeah. I worked with a friend of Kevin’s in Stockholm. It was good. I worked for OEL for a while and trained most days. I didn’t uh, I didn’t have a lot of free time. Just work.” 

“And partying,” Mikkel said under his breath, but clearly meant for him to hear. 

Oliver sat forward. “And?” 

Mikkel looked at him with a frown. “And nothing. Just. You weren’t holed up. You went out.” 

“Well, I’m single now, so I’m supposed to do that shi-- stuff,” he looked up at Shane who looked at him oddly. He never really policed his language but he _was_ in Shane’s house. His kids were in the next room. 

“How has your training gone?” Shane swerved the conversation. 

Mikkel looked up at Shane and blinked like he’d forgotten he was there. “I worked in Denmark for six weeks and came home to work with Luc for the last little while.” 

“Luc?” Oliver frowned. He’d called their trainer the week before to ask if he had availability. He’d thought maybe the guy would have had the common sense to tell him that his ex was working with him. 

“Is that problem?” Mikkel looked guiltily at Oliver, rubbing his hands along his jeans. He wasn’t being the jackass Oliver had seen a thousand times before. He looked like maybe he was stepping over a boundary. 

Oliver groaned and rubbed at his face. “Of course not, Meek--- Mikkel. He was both of our trainer. I just… I talked to him last week and he didn’t say anything. I thought maybe he would.” 

Mikkel nodded quickly. “Thanks.” 

And suddenly Oliver felt like the room shifted on it’s axis. The anger in him felt like it was replaced instantly with this intense sadness that their relationship had gotten to the point of painful small talk with a mediator necessary. It left him feeling exhausted and not just a little depressed. 

“Shane?” 

Shane turned to him and read his face in an instant; a weird Captain-Alternate mind meld. “You sure?” 

Oliver nodded and Shane turned around and walked out. 

“I thought you had to be married for that to work,” Mikkel tried, his laugh a little bitter. 

“You know his real wife and work wife would kill me,” Oliver smiled slightly in return. “And I can take Smitty, but Andrea really freaks me out.” 

Mikkel didn’t laugh but he did smile. Making Mikkel smile had always felt like winning an award for Oliver and damn if it didn’t at that moment. It made him hate himself, to be honest. To feel this way after all the time that he had worked to not. 

“You know why they want us to meet up, right?” Oliver said, switching to Swedish. Not that he thought Shane was eavesdropping but he always felt more honest in Swedish than in English. 

“To decide my fate,” Mikkel said, no tone of sarcasm. 

Oliver rubbed at his face a few times. “This isn’t what I want. I don’t want to have any say in this.” 

“If I’m honest, I’m glad you do. I don’t want to put you in a painful place just because it makes my life better.” 

He exhaled. “What the everliving fuck, Mikkel?” 

“Wha-“

“I mean, you just fucking left me. You left me in the middle of the season, you left me with my contract. You knew what you were doing. You knew what I wanted and you fucking left. Why? Because they wouldn’t give you a better contract? Your contract was better than our fucking CAPTAINS contract. Do you get that? 

“And I was here. I was here the whole time just wanting to do anything to keep you happy. I wanted you to stay. I wanted you to be a part of my life. And you left. And…” 

He petered out. He’d said this before. Too many times to count. Out loud, in texts and in emails. He felt like he was going round in circles. Mikkel looked at him with sad eyes. 

“Fuck,” he gesticulated wildly. “FUCK. This isn’t how this is supposed to go.” 

“How is it supposed to go, O?” Mikkel said softly but as he spoke it went up. “You want me to tell you about how my pride was hurt and I was a jackass? You want me to tell you about moving to Colorado and feeling like shit every time I woke up because it was wrong. I got an apartment and my bed was the wrong direction so I knew it before I opened my damn eyes. 

“I tried calling you but what would I say? And then I saw you at the game and you didn’t look at me. No one would look at me. Every single person looked past me and it just made me feel worse. I felt horrible.” 

Oliver felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He snapped. “I’m sorry if you felt bad, I wasn’t exactly feeling great myself. They might not of been looking at you but they couldn’t keep their damn eyes off of me. For weeks I was treated like something that was broken.” 

And this he was glad that Shane wouldn’t be able to understand if he could hear. He knew that the guys had tried to keep it as subtle as possible, but the twenty-four seven monitoring was not subtle. While he knew they were all coming from a good place it lost it’s luster after a few days of Nick or Boyd or Domi and Duke just ‘showing up’ randomly with food. It was… exhausting and he was already so beyond exhausted. 

“We weren’t supposed to break up,” Mikkel said with a detached voice. “We were something that was supposed to last.” 

Oliver blinked, hard, fighting tears and surprise at the same time. He’d said that to Mikkel, once, months ago. A moment of sheer honesty in a fight that felt like lasted the whole season. Mikkel had said that maybe moving to a new team would be the best idea and Oliver had felt everything break. 

He’d let himself be a hundred percent honest and his honesty had manifested in ‘We were something meant to last’. Mikkel had basically railroaded over the sentence, always one to have the last word. 

Oliver looked at his hands and fiddled with the ring he had on his thumb. He wanted to ask if he knew just what he’d meant by that. If he’d known what Oliver had been trying to say to him, to _ask_ him. He felt like if he did then everything couldn’t have happened. Everything would have been different. 

Shane walked in, two beers in hand and a tentative smile on his face. “Andrea says that if you haven’t killed each other we can eat now.” 

Mikkel stood up and grabbed one of the beers, making a face at it. “ _Canadian_.” 

“Snob,” Shane shrugged. “Just cause it’s not fancy as hell doesn’t mean it’s not going to do the job. Oliver?”

With another moment of hesitation Oliver forced himself to stand up, shaking off a little of the tension and forcing a smile. “We just have a finer palate, your piss beer can’t touch Swedish beer.” 

“ _Danish_ beer,” Mikkel said, a chirp they’d shared for as long as they’d known each other. “But anything is better than American beer.” 

“Amen.” Shane and Oliver said in unison. 

They walked in to through the kitchen where Andrea had the kids in a line setting up plates. She smiled at the two of them, giving them a quick once over like they might actually have some form of injury on them. She smiled and nodded at the plates at the end of the island. 

“We do it buffet style,” she offered. “And you might want to make it fast. Two growing boys and their father who has no idea that he stopped growing a few decades ago.” 

Shane made a noise. “I did training this morning, extra calories.” 

“You know, you only have so much longer you’ll be able to use that excuse.” 

Shane leaned over and kissed Andrea on the temple. Oliver’s stomach tightened, remembering the feeling of casual intimacy that that would entail. They had never been overtly affectionate in public for various reasons, but what they lost in public they’d made up for in private. They were always in some form of contact at home. Hands brushing, lips kissing bits of skin available. 

He looked away and walked to the place where the plates were. He took a plate and started in on what looked like a really amazing spread. Lasagna, steamed veggies, cut fruit. His mom would approve, which was something he wouldn’t say to Andrea. He didn’t want to make her into the team mom when she didn’t have to be.

“It looks amazing Andrea,” Mikkel said from behind him. “Thank you.” 

“Tuck in, guys,” Andrea beamed, obviously thankful for the comment. Oliver blushed, he should have said something. “Trust me, I’m not kidding with the kids eating style.” 

Grace looked over and rolled her eyes. “Mom, you make us sound like animals.” 

Carys shrugged. “Josh is at least a monkey.” 

Josh, not to be out done, puffed out his face and made monkey noises. “Remember Carys, I’m a monkey you’re a monkey. Same DNA, dummy.” 

“Do not call your sister a dummy,” Shane chastised. “We have GUESTS.” 

“Don’t call them a dummy even if we DIDN’T have guests, Josh,” Andrea added, rolling her eyes in a surprising approximation of her daughter. 

Oliver plated some food, trying to remember the way to split it up to keep with his diet plan. He wasn’t sticking to it that well to be honest, but he hadn’t been eating in front of teammates, nor his captain, before this. The lasagna smelled amazing and he was tempted to just take half of it. He limited himself, though, and grabbed a large glass of water.

When he sat down though, Shane had a beer in front of him. Oliver looked at it and frowned slightly. “You tell my nutritionist and I’m going to get yelled at.” 

Andrea laughed so loud that her ears turned pink. “Oh man, you listen to your nutritionist in the summer? I don’t think Shane has done that in a decade and a half.” 

“You’re going to ruin my rep as Captain, dear,” Shane smiled at his wife and she leaned across from her seat to give him a kiss. 

“Ugh,” Carson made a face. “All the time.” 

Oliver began to laugh just before Mikkel sat down beside him, the only free seat and Oliver tensed up. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with his arm. He was seated so that his elbow was going to hit Mikkel every time he took a bite. He tucked it to his side and moved ever so slightly away. 

In his periphery he caught the way that Mikkel noticed it. 

The tension continued through out dinner, ebbing and waning with the conversation. Grace and Andrea Doan, it appeared, knew at least enough of what was going on to keep the conversation going in the most light way possible. They didn’t talk about hockey, or work outs, they safely avoided the topics of relationships (though Oliver felt that might be because Shane brought up Grace’s boyfriend and she made it clear that that was a non-topic). 

There was never a lull longer than a few seconds before one of them would jump in with a topic change. Oliver could kiss them both were it not for the obvious chance that his captain would murder him in his sleep. Instead he sent them thankful looks and tucked away the idea of sending the biggest bouquet of flowers he could find in the next day or so. 

That being said whenever Mikkel piped up into the conversation Oliver felt like his whole body reacted. Hair stood up on his skin, his body leaned towards him and his heart beat in that funny way. It was not unlike the (albeit brief) time between him moving to Arizona and them becoming an actual thing. 

The idea that he had to make the decision of his comfort with Mikkel being on the team seemed to be ever present, even when hockey wasn’t being mentioned. Every time he caught sight of Mikkel in his eye line he had the thought pop up and he couldn’t help but think about it. 

What if. What if. What if he let him back into his life? What if he decided to say he was comfortable with him in the locker room? Would that mean that he was okay with him _only_ in the locker room? Would that be saying he was okay with him on the road and seeing him constantly at team functions? 

Would it mean forgiveness? 

Because he didn’t know how comfortable he was with not only the first few parts but the last question was the hardest. Forgiveness. Letting go of the fact that he was broken up with, that it had left him broken.

Before he’d left Sweden his mom had asked him to forgive Mikkel. She’d asked him to do it for himself rather than for Mikkel, because she’d seen how it weighed on him and it was making her nervous about what it would do to him. He had made it clear that he wasn’t going to let it affect his game and she’d tutted at him. 

‘ _Hockey is temporary, you are what’s permanent and important._ ’

If only it was as easy as that to make himself let go of the feeling. The pain. 

The meal, after a dessert that was completely off any forms of good nutrition but heaven sent, ended and the kids all dispersed ‘subtly’. (Grace took her youngest brother and offered to play him on the X Box, so basically Shane had told her enough. He didn’t know how he felt about that.) Andrea also walked out, claiming her favorite show on DVR. 

They migrated to the front room but Oliver kept going towards the door. 

Shane stopped them before they got to the door. “A whole meal without any murder. Progress?” 

“I’m not the one you should be asking,” Mikkel said, bluntly. 

Oliver weighed his words carefully. “It went okay.” 

Shane clapped his hands together. “Okay then. I guess I’ll be talking to you both in the next few days.” 

Oliver wanted to tell him that this wasn’t fair. That he decided to not make a decision and that the team could do it for him, like they should be in the first place. But he nodded. He needed out and he needed out right that moment. 

“Tell Andrea that the meal was incredible, would you?” he said as they hugged goodbye. “And tell Gracie that Aiden sounds awesome.” 

Shane growled. “I’ll do the first but the second over my dead body.” 

Oliver smiled slightly. “You know… she could be dating a rookie…” 

“You shut your mouth, Ekman-Larrson,” Shane pointed at him. 

“Aye aye Captain,” he fake saluted him then reached for the doorknob. “Goodnight.” 

He could feel Mikkel behind him, the sense of familiarity painful and comforting at the same time. 

_Hockey is temporary._ his mother’s voice echoed in his head. 

There was a new car beside his, one he didn’t recognize. He realized, almost surreally, that it had to be Mikkel’s. That Mikkel had probably turned in his lease when he moved to Colorado and gotten a new one when he came back. Everything was new again, he guessed. 

“Nice ride,” he commented as he stopped in front of the bright red BMW. 

Mikkel shrugged. “Yeah. I … almost got the same as last time but it felt weird when I test drove it.” 

“I’m going to tell them to sign your contract,” he blurted out, not even sure until that exact moment that was what he was going to do. 

Mikkel stared at him blankly for a long moment. “Thank you?” 

“I can’t hate you forever,” he admitted, his mouth going on without his approval. “It’s killing me.” 

“O,” Mikkel started but Oliver shook his head. 

“I’m doing this for me, okay? I’m not doing this for you. I forgive you so I can move on.” 

Even in the summer twilight Oliver could see Mikkel’s eyes were shiny and his face was pinched. “Okay.” 

“Okay,” Oliver said. “I’m. I’m going to tell them to sign you and we’ll be teammates again. But that’s what we will be.” 

Mikkel nodded slightly. “Teammates.” 

“Yeah,” he said around the lump in his throat. “Teammates.” 

“Thanks,” Mikkel said, though it sounded a lot less grateful as resigned. 

Oliver went to his car and got in before his mouth could get him into anymore trouble. He watched as Mikkel did the same thing, turned his car on and backed out. He waited till Mikkel was out of sight before he laid his head on his wheel and let out a few choked sobs. 

By the time he got himself back enough on track to turn the car on he couldn’t decide if he should take it all back or not. 

He sent Shane a text: _Sign the contract._

* 

They made it four days of training before they ran into each other at the rink. It was inevitable really, it wasn’t like they wouldn’t go to the same training facility. They still shared a freaking trainer, apparently, because Mikkel was just getting out of his gear as Oliver walked into the locker room. 

Even with the inevitability it stopped him in his tracks and he blinked rapidly.

“Oh, uh. One minute. I’ll be done in one minute,” Mikkel said, fiddling with a shin guard.

Oliver, getting back a hold of himself, put a hand up. “Take your time. No big deal.” 

He walked over to a locker a safe distance away from Mikkel without seeming like he was trying to completely avoid him and put his bag down. His hands fumbled with the zipper, fingers feeling slightly numb. He finally got it down just in time to hear Mikkel let out a weird cough. He looked up. 

“He’s in a freaking mood today,” Mikkel said in the most forced casual tone Oliver had ever heard. “I mean. Be prepared for bag skates if you aren’t all in.” 

Oliver groaned. “Awesome. That’s going to be… awesome.” 

“I tried to go the suck up route. Did not end well. I’m going to take an ice bath or fear my legs fall off.” 

He got to the point where he had to take his pants off and his brain fired off a command to turn around. He’d spent literally his entire life in hockey locker rooms, had changed so many times in front of people he knew and didn’t know he couldn’t even hazard a guess about how many people had seen him naked.

He couldn’t make himself do that in front of Mikkel. It felt absurdly too intimate. He stood up and faced away, even though he knew it made everything about ten times more awkward. He pulled his pants down and looked into the empty locker as he pulled up the beginning of his gear. 

By the time he felt comfortable enough to turn around he found that Mikkel was still at about where he had been when Oliver had turned, staring at him. He looked sad, sadder than he’d seen him even at Shane’s. A sick part of him thought it good for him to feel that way. 

He sat down and slipped his left skate on and then his right, going back to lace up the first and then the second. It was his tradition, after all, and game or not he was all about his routine. 

Mikkel seemed to spring back into action. He was down to just his boxers, apparently not kidding about the ice bath and he stood up to pass by Oliver to the room with all the rehab papers, just as Luc walked in. 

“Ah yes, my next victim,” he grinned. “Come along. We’ve got some training to do and I’ve got someone else after you.” 

It did not bode well when Luc rubbed his hands together.

* 

Mikkel had not been kidding, when Oliver was done two hours later he was in need of an ice bath as well. And then a long rest in the sauna. It was like every inch of muscle in his body was desperately trying to find a way to tell him individually that he should curl up in a ball and die. 

Even after the relaxing he got into his car like he was rocking a hardcore sunburn. 

He drove home with only the thoughts of a nap, possibly ordering in from a place with good steak and then going to sleep early. 

Instead he found Mikkel’s flashy red car in his front yard and Mikkel behind the wheel. He looked like he’d been sitting there awhile and Oliver had to knock on the window to get his attention. Mikkel jumped a bit before opening the window. 

“Uh, hej?” 

“Hey,” Mikkel half smiled. “You startled me.” 

He chose not to point out that he was seated in front of Oliver’s house and thus probably shouldn’t be startled by _Oliver_. Instead he stared at him for a minute waiting for something other than the sound of air conditioning and whatever crappy music Mikkel had on the radio. 

“I’ve been here for forty five minutes,” Mikkel admitted, guiltily. 

Oliver exhaled slowly. He wasn’t sure if it was just giving in to an inevitability or the fact that he was pretty sure that his legs were ten seconds from giving out beneath him that washed over him but he shrugged. “You wanna come in?” 

The car was turned off and Mikkel was opening the door before the question actually ended. He winced as he got out of the car, which made Oliver feel better that he wasn’t the only one feeling like his body had just gone through the ringer. Mikkel hissed. 

“Fucking Luc,” he said and Oliver chuckled softly. 

He had some regrets about the house, particularly buying something so freaking huge when it ended with him wandering around it like a lost fucking kid, but never so much as walking up the stairs to his front door. He took consolation in not being in that alone. 

“I’d offer you beer, but there isn’t any left in the house. I need to go grocery shopping again, I guess. But I have Gatorade, I think.” 

Mikkel, who’d settled into the chair that Oliver had almost sold because it was _Mikkel’s_ , nodded. “Blue.” 

Like Oliver really could forget that tidbit of knowledge. He remembered reading somewhere that a break up was hardest because it left you with all this knowledge about someone and no use for it. He walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. He looked around it, still half full of the food he’d returned home to. 

The bottom drawer of the fridge was dedicated to power drinks and he grabbed one blue Gatorades and a Smart Water. When he got back to the other room he tossed Mikkel the bottle and fell into the crook of his couch, sighing as he put his legs up. 

“Any particular reason you came over?” he said to the ceiling. 

“I signed the contract this morning.” 

Oliver felt his chest tighten. He let out a breath like he’d been punched in the gut before he could stop himself. “Oh… okay.” 

“They’re going to announce tomorrow,” Mikkel said and though he refused to look away from the ceiling he could picture Mikkel’s face perfectly. “I guess I owe you a thanks.” 

“I really didn’t want to make the decision, it shouldn’t have been mine to make.” 

Mikkel laughed. “Well, you might have made the decision but I’m still going to have to walk into the locker room sometime soon and hopefully not get decked.” 

Oliver did look over at that. “I’d stay away from Max, Duke and Stoner if I were you. I mean… if we keep Stone.” 

Mikkel clenched his jaw a little. “Max has already made his feelings known.” 

Which didn’t actually shock him at all. Max had been there, a lot, for him after the whole break up. He and Duke had made sure to keep him busy. Had made sure he didn’t eat alone every night. Had invited him out on things that felt very obviously like a date with a grouchy third wheel. 

“I didn’t come here to tell you I’d been signed,” Mikkel said softly. 

Oliver waited. 

“I came here because I need you to know something,” Mikkel licked his lips anxiously and Oliver looked back at the ceiling. 

He couldn’t hear that Mikkel loved him. Couldn’t hear about how hard it was for Mikkel as well. He stared at the ceiling and prepared for whatever hit was coming.

“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, Ollie.” 

His stomach flipped. He thought back to all the things that had been said between them and wracked his brain for if that had entered the conversation. 

“I was selfish, I was stupid, and all the time I thought I was doing what was best but none of that mattered. I knew I was hurting you from the start and I never even took the time to ask you what I should do. I shouldn’t have hurt you. I shouldn’t have left and I should have talked to you before I broke it to the fucking locker room. I am a multi-layered onion of fuck ups and I am so fucking sorry.” 

Oliver laughed. Hard. His muscles protesting at the motion. “A multi-layered onion of fuck ups? REALLY, Meeks?” 

“Ollie, I’m trying to apologize here,” Mikkel said, but he gave him a small smile and then a laugh. “I guess that sounded better in my head.” 

There was a beat of laughter that petered out and then the silence was left for Oliver to fill. 

“I wasn’t much better,” Oliver said, his voice soft. “I mean, I could have told you my feelings a little more. I could have talked when you asked me to. I shouldn’t have disregarded your feelings. I know why you wanted more. But I was hurt. I was sad and scared. You kept demanding more from the higher ups, you knew they couldn’t give it. I just figured you were trying to break up with me.” 

Mikkel looked at him sadly. “I kind of was.” 

Oliver sat up too quickly, anger masking whatever disagreement his muscles were trying to push at him. “What the fuck?” 

“Oliver, what the fuck were we doing?” 

“What the fuck were we doing? I thought we were living together. I thought we were dating. I thought we were in love.” 

Mikkel bit his lips. “We were all that. But we’re fucking hockey players, Oliver. Sports isn’t exactly all inclusive here. We were out as fuck, everyone knew. One trade and one slip up and we were fucked. Our careers were over and you know it. We were doomed. You knew it back then.” 

“I didn’t care,” Oliver protested. “I told you I didn’t care. We were good. We have money. We have our game. You know we could play in Europe in a fucking second if it came to that, which it wouldn’t. Do you honestly think that the Coyotes give a fuck? They have gone above and beyond to protect us. Do you not see them protect us? 

“And even if they didn’t, even if they weren’t? What the hell do you mean, we were doomed? We weren’t enough for you?” 

Mikkel had stood up somewhere during Oliver’s yelling and was pacing, a little slower than he usually would, back and forth. It was a little dizzying even for Oliver, to be honest, or that could have been his lack of breathing. He watched Mikkel pace for a full minute before he stood up and got in his way to break his stride. 

“Were we not enough for you?” he repeated, all anger gone. All feeling gone, actually, a numbness he hadn’t felt since that day in the locker room a life time ago. “Was I not enough for you?”

Mikkel pushed himself forward and their lips hit each other in less of a kiss and more of a smash. Oliver went rigid in his spot and felt as he stared down his nose at Mikkel’s closed eyes. He let himself exhale and inhale through his nose, even though Mikkel still pressed his lips there. It was like he had something to say and thought that it was the way to say it. 

He finally pulled back and looked at Oliver. “ **You** were always enough, Oliver.” 

Oliver knew the words were sweet, the kind of romantic they very very rarely showed before but his fist balled up at his side. “Are you fucking kidding me here, Mikkel? You thought you weren’t enough?” 

This time he leaned in and with one hand on Mikkel’s stubbly face he brushed a kiss along Mikkel’s face, then his lips. 

“You stupid fuck,” he said, fondly, and kissed him lightly again. “You stupid stupid fuck.” 

* 

Mikkel rented a condo, for the season, one that was a little more than three miles from Oliver’s house. It wasn’t huge or anything but it was the place that Mikkel went to more often than not. They weren’t a thing again. They decided that early on that that wasn’t something they were ready for. 

That being said, they did spend pretty much every waking moment together. It wasn’t just because that is what they always did, though that was enough of a reason. They just genuinely fell into it. Before the season it was just habit for Mikkel to shower and change and watch as Oliver finished his conditioning, or they’d condition together. Once the season started they left together and they came together. 

It took a lot longer for the team to come around than Oliver had hoped, honestly, though he knew why. He didn’t remember much of the end of the season but he knew he hadn’t been in a good place and had it been any other player on earth than he would have probably done the same. Even the new players seemed to sense it and close in ranks around him. He was aware that Mikkel had burnt the bridges so he had to rebuild them but it was hard to watch a team once really close feel like it had a broken part to it. 

When, though, after a few months, Mikkel got the invite out to drinks through Duke rather than Oliver it was like a giant leap forward. Oliver felt like it gave the whole team a breath of relief and maybe they got a little tipsier than they would on a random weeknight after a game but that was what Uber was for. 

The team gelled. Clicking together in a way that was possibly too easy and a little scary. Shane topped his last season. Hanzal lit up the ice _continuously_ for weeks upon weeks. Each game Oliver walked on the ice with a fear that this was the game that it would all fall apart and yet it just didn’t. 

When they clinched the playoff berth with four games left in the season it was like the whole team became one organism on the ice. They breathed with each other and landed on each other in mass. 

“I LOVE YOU,” was screamed into his ear over and over from all of the players. Shane found him and squeezed his so fucking tight he was sure his padding was leaving marks across his body. 

He felt Mikkel more than saw him, two arms wrapping around him and pulling him down. A face in his neck, sweaty hair against his sweaty neck. He felt a pair of lips kiss him at the base of his neckline. He pulled Mikkel up against his side, his ear an inch away from his lips. 

Even with the closeness he had to yell to be heard over the cacophony. “I LOVE YOU.” 

When he pulled back Mikkel smiled at him and mouthed it back at him. Or maybe he said it, who fucking knew. They made it to the post season. On home fucking ice. 

Later though, much much much later after booze and scrums and a ride home from their captain’s wife that ended with Oliver saying VERY LOUDLY that they were going ‘one fucking place, thank you very much.’ He did hear him. 

He heard as Mikkel whispered it against every inch of his skin, as they kissed and kissed and kissed until neither of them had feeling in their lips. Until their booze filled bodies had them lazily stroking each other and their hearts beating against each other’s bare chest. 

“Come home, Mikkel,” Oliver whispered against his jaw. “Come home.” 

“I am home, dumb ass.”

Oliver nudged him. “Break the contract with that stupid condo and _come home_.” 

Mikkel pushed his face into Oliver’s chest, Oliver could feel his smile. He pulled back. “Well, when you put it that way.” 

“Love you, Meeks.” 

“Love you, O.”

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a response in my head to the "Ways you said I love you" challenge. Specifically "From a thousand miles away". Well. Here we are 15k later. This is my version of catharsis, I guess. Thanks to sly_fck, freetodream5 and Lucifern for holding my hands and dealing with my mental break downs. 
> 
> Yeah, I'm still a fucking mess for these two boys.
> 
> Title from Broken Crown by Mumford & Sons


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